The Improbable Truth
by Torrnickel
Summary: Hogwarts AU. John Watson is a new student and Sherlock Holmes, resident genius and arrogant prick, has no interest in him in any sense of the word. That would be impossible, of course. Obviously. Improbable, at the very least. Eventual Johnlock.


"You alright, mate?"

John shook himself out of his thoughts. "Yeah, fine. Just…in shock, I guess."

Mike chuckled as he led the newer student down to the dungeons. "Hogwarts must be pretty big compared to your old school, huh? We've got seven storeys here instead of four."

John smiled, shaking his head. "Enormous."

John had actually been homeschooled for the first few years of his magical education, as his (Muggle) dad's occupation required them to move around a lot and his (also Muggle) mum, who had a surprisingly extensive knowledge of the magical world, had insisted that he 'see the world' while he had the chance. However, his dad had insisted that he go to a 'proper school' to prepare for his O.W.L.s, so there we was, getting Sorted in his fourth year and trying not to get lost in the maze of corridors that was Hogwarts. Mike Stamford, a fellow Hufflepuff, was assigned to help him find his classes for the first few days, so they had been allowed to leave their classes a few minutes early for that purpose.

They were approaching the Potions classroom (John's next class) just as the sixth-year Ravenclaws and Slytherins were beginning to leave. A greasy-haired Ravenclaw stalked out of the classroom behind of a much younger-looking boy of the same house, clearly trying to clarify something.

"Wait, but don't you think –"

There was a quick flick of a wand, leaving the older boy opening and closing his mouth like a fish as his junior swept past him with a smirk. He paused mid-step and spun around on his heel, regarding the other boy with obvious disdain.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud; you lower the IQ of the entire school." And with that, he was gone.

"Who was that?" John asked once the older boy had walked away with a sour expression. He certainly didn't look like a sixth-year.

"Oh, that's Sherlock Holmes." Mike supplied as they walked into the classroom. "Resident genius; he's in your year, actually."

"Really?" John mulled over this for a moment or two. "I'd like to meet this Sherlock character." he decided as he set his things down at a desk.

Mike simply nodded and checked his watch. "Well, I best be off now. Good luck." Other students had started to filter in, so John waved and took out his books, idly thinking about this mysterious Ravenclaw.

_Sherlock Holmes, huh?_

*'*'*

It just so happened that his next class, after lunch, was Charms with Ravenclaw. He was chatting with Mike as they entered the classroom when another voice cut through their conversation.

"Stamford, can I borrow a quill? Mine's been Charmed to only write backwards."

John turned to the source of the query and it was that Holmes bloke from earlier, who was already seated at the back of the class. _Shouldn't he be in a higher year class if he's so smart?_ he wondered.

Mike checked his schoolbag and shrugged. "Sorry, only got one on me right now."

Almost as if by instinct, John quickly rummaged through his things and pulled out a slightly ruffled but fairly new quill, walked up to this stranger, and offered it to him. "Here, use mine."

Blue (or were they green?) eyes scanned over him before accepting the writing instrument. "Oh. Thank you."

"Just transferred here from Durmstrang, John Watson." Mike added from the side.

Holmes then proceeded to dip the quill in his inkwell and began to scribble out words in spidery writing on a piece of foreign-looking parchment.

"How was Norway?" The Ravenclaw asked as he finished a sentence.

John blinked. "Sorry?"

He rolled his eyes. "How was Norway?" he repeated, still not looking up.

"Er, it was good." John answered, shifting weight from foot to foot. "Got quite cold sometimes, though."

"Don't be obvious." was the reply as he handed the quill back to its owner. By this time, most of the other students had come in and taken their seats. Mike must have left for his class, John noted.

"Can I sit here?" he gestured to the empty seat and messy desk space, presumably covered in Holmes' things. A flicker of surprise crossed the other boy's face.

"Yes, of course." He began to shift his belongings onto his side, stuffing other objects into his bag as John started to take his things out.

Once they had settled and Professor Flitwick had started the lesson (a review of last year's main Charms), he nudged the Ravenclaw to ask a question, who was…dissecting some sort of eyeball?

"What are you doing?" he practically hissed, but no one else seemed to notice. "We're in Charms."

Holmes rolled his eyes yet again while cutting the lens out. John thought it was oddly appropriate. "Yes, but I've already learned this and I'm not going to waste my time when I could be doing something else."

_Sounds fair enough,_ John reasoned before he got back to what he had tried ask the first time.

"How did you know that I was in Norway?" he asked, glancing up to the front of the room to see if there was anything he hadn't learned. Nope, just review. It made him wonder if the professor had any faith in the memories of teenagers. Then again, he didn't know how lessons were taught here in the first place, so he decided that it wasn't really his place to judge.

The Ravenclaw looked up from his out-of-place dissection, resting his hands on the table. "I didn't know, I saw. And the same way that I know that you're a Muggle-born with a military father, are going to try out for the Quidditch team, and you've been homeschooled and have not been to Durmstrang, as opposed to what everyone else seems to assume."

John did a double-take. "How did you do that?"

Once Holmes opened his mouth it seemed like the words wouldn't stop coming, as if he had been damming it up this whole time.

"You're holding your quill the proper way, the way that is traditionally taught, and almost no one does that unless they had initially learned how to write with Muggle writing instruments first. However, you would have adjusted it to be more personalised if you were familiar with quills but you're not, so you were homeschooled. Presumably by a Muggle mother, not a Squib for the aforementioned reasons, who has experience teaching or you'd be desperately needing this review and you're not paying attention to it, so this actually is review for you. Your back is perfectly straight, shoulders are squared, so disciplined and used to following orders, so close relative in the military, probably a paternal figure, so father. Muggle mother and military father means Muggle-born. Makes sense considering that you haven't been in an actual wizarding school for the last few years. Trying out for Quidditch? Easy, your arms are built like a tennis player's but it's both arms, so you're used to flying and there aren't any other major sports at this school. Norway? Your bag of that brand are only sold in Scandinavian countries. In addition, the quill you let me borrow is from a White-tailed Eagle, and the main populations of the bird are in Norway and Russia, so process of elimination leads to Norway."

He took a deep breath at the end, almost expectantly.

John remained silent for a few moments.

"That…was amazing."

Another flicker of surprise. "Do you think so?"

"Of course it was! That was extraordinary."

Holmes went back to his experiment and started prying out another lens – what creature did this eye come from, anyway? "That's not what people normally say."

John raised an eyebrow. "What do people normally say?"

Holmes looked up again with an almost-smile. "Piss off."

"Holmes and Watson, pay attention, please." Flitwick called out, startling both boys to attention. "Thank you." The professor then proceeded to continue with his review.

John smiled, shaking his head.

This Holmes bloke was certainly different from the others that he had met at Hogwarts.

_This could get interesting._


End file.
